The Young Widow
by hollandchels
Summary: Raoul has passed away, leaving Christine with 2 small children. She's running out of money... What will she do when Erik offers to help? EC
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

As Christine unpacked what little she had left of the life she had become accustomed to, memories she had been trying to keep out of her mind came floating back to her. She remembered their wedding day... she and Raoul's... and the births of their children. Henri James... now three, and little Claire Marie, who was only five months old. And then, of course she remembered when her husband had first became ill... tuberculosis... like her beloved father... Then she thought of the day of the funeral... Sunday, two days from now... How her little children... their children... would have to say goodbye to their father, and she would be left alone in the world... She had thought that the deChagnys would support them, but they had, quite abruptly, made it quite clear that she would no longer have access to the family funds... and once again, just as when her father had passed when she was at such a young age, she was alone.

Christine had had to move out from the estate, and find a new home. With the little amount of money she could make from her own things, she had purchased a home... It was small and located in one of the worse parts of Paris, the slums... But it would do... at least until she could find a job...

Sighing and blinking back her tears, Christine finished unpacking the trunk and rose from her spot on the floor, going to check on Henri and Claire, who were napping in their bedroom.

Erik laid in his bed after awakening as many diverse thoughts ran through his head. He had nowhere to go, and nothing to do, so he spent many early mornings simply lying idle in his room. He'd not been living in his new home long; it had taken time to gather his money, build and furnish the house, and hire the appropriate servants. He had a full staff of ten people, as the house was quite large. They would be expecting him to be awake soon.

He rose from the bed, pulled on a robe, and went downstairs to the spacious dining alcove, where a plate containing scrambled eggs, ham, toast, black coffee, with a newspaper next to it sat on the table. Although he was never interested in current events, the servants were always sure to place a paper with his breakfast.

He sat at the table, and looked over the paper, which was folded in half and had the back facing up. The obituaries greeted him as he began to eat. An excellent way to start my day, he thought with a smirk. As he took a bite of the heavily buttered toast, a name on the page stood out. Raoul deChagny. He abandoned the bread in favor of the paper.

_This past week, the Vicomte Raoul deChagny has passed on, of tuberculosis,_ he read_, leaving behind a wife and two small children. Memorial services will be held at St. Paul's Cathedral, Sunday from 9 to noon._ An odd mix of emotions overcame Erik, and briefly he considered attending the service, but soon his thoughts turned to Christine. The boy had left her alone, which children nonetheless... He wondered if the deChagny family would continue to support her. He resumed his breakfast, accompanied by troubled thoughts of Christine.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello everyone, Chels here. Apologies for the delay in updating; a friend of mine has been visiting and I've been a bit busy. Thank you so much for the reviews; on with the chap.

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Chapter Two

That Sunday, Christine dressed Henri in his little suit and Claire in a tiny black gown, tears stinging her eyes... It was the day of the memorial service... the day Raoul would be buried. It was still so hard for her to believe... that Raoul was gone.

Mere months ago he had been fine... She had been pregnant with Claire and he had been healthy... They had been happy. And then he had gotten sick... and the sickness had taken a toll on his body quickly. She had given birth to Claire without him by her side; the tuberculosis had already made him too ill to get out of bed. His death had been slow; painful... just as her father's had.

Christine was torn from her thoughts as the carriage pulled up outside of her home to take her to the funeral home. She picked up Claire from her changing table and took Henri's tiny hand in her own, leading him out to the carriage. It would be a trying day for all of them... It was time to say goodbye.

Erik dressed himself in a black suit, his usual attire. He was planning on attending the vicomte's memorial service today... out of respect for a worthy adversary, he supposed, for lack of a better reason. He boarded a carriage and directed the driver to take him to the St. Paul Cathedral, ignoring the guarded suspicion easily visible on the servant's features. Mentally, he prepared himself for the possibility of seeing Christine... and her children.

Christine stood at the entrance of the church, greeting the people attending the service, her son gripping the skirt of her black dress tightly, and silently crying into it; Claire nestled against her chest, fussing from all of the attention and the bustle of strangers around her. Her long, brown curls pulled up into a bun. She knew she did not look presentable to the other people of high society... Christine assumed stress did that to a person. She knew she had lost a considerable amount of weight since Raoul's death; her body had become frail, but it did not matter much to her, for she had learned there were far more important things to worry about nowadays.

Erik's carriage arrived at the church. "Pick me up at eleven," he instructed Pierre, the carriage driver. He turned, and saw that, at the entrance at the church, stood Christine. She cradled a baby to her, and a small boy was clinging to her skirts. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before entering the church, praying that she would not spot him. He waited a moment, until the stream of people entering thickened, before joining them in walking past the young widow.

Through the crowd, she saw a flash of a mask for an instant. A mask? Could it be him? No... He wouldn't come... would he? Christine had no more time to think about it though, for the service was about to begin, and she had to go take her seat.

"It's time to go in, Henri," she said soothingly, looking down at her boy. He wiped his eyes and reached up for her to hold him. Christine forced a smile and bent over and scooped him up in her free arm, carrying Claire and him into the large church... the same church she and Raoul had been married in only five years before. She took her seat at the front of the church, along with the rest of the deChangys... her family... some family they were... They had never accepted her and now they had left her on her own with their beloved Raoul's little boy and baby girl. The looks she received from the family she had married into made her feel as if she was going to be sick, but soon she was distracted from her thoughts once again when Claire started to fuss again, and Henri continued to cling to her... Christine desperately wished she could be more of a comfort to them, but knew that all they wanted was the home they had grown up in so far and most of all their papa... and it pained her greatly, knowing she may not be able to support them as they deserved.

Erik took a seat in a pew near the back, feeling somewhat out of his element in this sacred building. From each stained window, various religious figures seemed to glare accusingly at him. He was glad when the service began, though he did notice (if the contemptuous stares that the deChangys were throwing at Christine were any way to judge) that Christine no longer had any means of support, which worried him. It also pained him to see her and her family in such emotional pain.

Later on that morning, Christine stood, along with the others that had attended the service, in the cemetery. She stood and stared as her husband was lowered into the ground; tears fell from her eyes, holding Claire to her chest in the cold January wind, Henri crying into her skirts. Snow fell from the gray sky, and the cold caused her to shiver. She couldn't believe this was happening... It wasn't supposed to be like this... Raoul was still supposed to be alive and they were supposed to be having Sunday brunch back at the estate. He had promised her he would protect her and be by her side always... Why had he left her? And his children? Christine knew she was all alone now; she was all her children had, and that scared her to death.

Many had departed from the service at the church, a select few remaining for the burial. Erik was one of those, standing at the back of the crowd, and watching as tears rolled down Christine's delicate cheeks. The casket was lowered, and the priest said a few parting words before the ceremony was adjourned. Erik prepared himself before approaching Christine. She took a few moments before heeding his presence. "Christine," he said solemnly.

Christine startled, and turned to see Erik standing behind her. "Erik," she said surprised to see him, bending over and picking up Henri from where he clung to her dress; she balanced a now sleeping Claire in one arm and Henri in her other. He buried his face in her neck, becoming shy at the stranger that stood before them. "How... How have you been?" she asked, out of habit.

He ignored her question as he took in the picture before him: Christine, the little mother. Finally, vaguely aware that she was becoming uncomfortable under his stare, he said, "I am deeply sorry for your despair." This was true; although he was not sorry for the vicomte to be dead, he was quite sorry for her to be so deeply saddened by it.

She looked down at the ground, blinking back her tears. "Thank you," she said quietly, looking back up at him.

"From what I gather, you have no current means of support," he continued, forcing himself to look away from her, to the church beyond, lest he be overcome by sympathy and cultivate the urge to hold her.

"Yes, well..." she began, finding it hard to string words together... She was very surprised to see Erik there... To be speaking to him. "We will manage..." she finished, saying the same thing she had been telling herself since Raoul's death aloud. Henri glanced up at Erik, but then shied away again. "Oh my, we're forgetting our manners," she said, forcing a smile at her son, and happy for a distraction. "Erik, this is Henri. Henri, say hello to Erik," she said, forcing cheer into her voice, as she often had to do with her children, to be strong for them.

Henri peaked up from where he had been hiding his face. "Hello," he muttered quietly.

"Hello," Erik replied, unable to cloak his small smile. He had no doubt that it would frighten the child, but he could not help himself.

After a moment, Henri smiled back at him shyly. "Can you tell Erik how old you are?" Christine coaxed, rubbing his back comfortingly.

"I'm three," he said, holding up his fingers to verify.

"Oh, what a big boy you are," Erik replied, assuming the tone that one often employs when speaking to small children.

"Yes," he said, somewhat proudly, with a small nod. "That's Claire," he said, pointing to the sleeping baby in Christine's other arm.

"What a beautiful baby she is," he said more quietly. "How old is she?" he asked, unsure of who to direct his question at.

Henri looked up at his mother expectantly, question in his eyes. "5 months," Christine said, looking from her son to Erik. He nodded.

They are very beautiful," he said softly, gazing somewhat intensely into her eyes. "Christine, if you should ever need help, I live on the outskirts of the city, off of the main street."

"Oh, thank you," she said quietly, " I've been trying to find a job, but there aren't many..." she trailed off, sighing. While she met his gaze, she felt something... Some sort of spark... But what? It was completely new to her... Maybe she had just been lonely and longed for his companionship or friendship. Her love for Raoul... or what she knew to be love... still burned very strong, even in his death, and it pained her greatly that that love would never be returned again. She shifted Henri's weight in her arms, careful not to wake Claire; she knew she would be fussy when she woke up.

"Yes... I'm afraid not many people in Paris are looking for a woman to do their work... It will not be easy, Christine. You know this, I'm sure... In any case, I must be returning home," he said, nodding to the idle carriage which had just pulled up. "Please, if you are in need, do not hesitate to find me... I am still your angel of music..." He nodded to Christine and the children, turned, and walked to his carriage, not daring to look back.

Christine stood there, watching him go; reflecting over his words in her head. I am still your angel of music. Would he really follow through if she needed him? Would she really want to give up her integrity by asking for his help? In the back of her mind, Christine knew they would not be able to last long on their own, to her horror. She wished things weren't the way they were... But she had learned long ago that wishing got you nowhere.

It was true, that there wasn't work for woman in Paris... There was cooking, but she barely knew how; there was cleaning, but she knew little of that as well... She could go back to dancing in the opera, but her two pregnancies had left her body tired and she was by no means fit anymore; she had become quite frail during the struggle of the past few months. And of course... prostitution. Christine shook those thoughts out of her head though; she did not know if she would ever sink that low, or be able to sell her body, but if she needed to she knew she would do it... for her children; they were much more important than her values or her self.

As the carriage took Erik back to his home, he couldn't help but wonder whether she would ever take up his offer or not. Would she be too proud, or would she be sensible on the matter? She had been so altered over the past five years, he could simply not be sure. Her children certainly were lovely, so much so that he could hardly stand to be bitter over them.

She'd seemed quite surprised to see him; he did not believe that he had let his own thrill at seeing her show, which was not difficult. Strong as his excitement had been, he was quite used to masking his feelings. In any case, the only thing that he could do now was wait. Wait, and hope.

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Please review, and we shall post more. Thanks 


	3. Chapter 3

Chelsey here; oh my goodness, we are so sorry, dear readers, for the apalling lack of attention in our stories of late. But no, we haven't forgotten or died or anything like that, and we promise it won't happen again. Please forgive us. :)

For those of you who are "Regret" fans, that has been updated as well.

Without further ado: the chap (finally!).

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Chapter Three

Christine had just returned from yet another day of looking for work, but failing. No one wanted a skinny, young widow with two small children and no job experience to work for them... and it was crushing her already broken spirit. She unbundled Henri and Claire (who had she been forced to take with her while looking for a job; she had no money for hiring someone to look after them).

Walking over to the tiny kitchen to prepare lunch for her children, only to find her cupboards almost bare. This was really happening. Gathering her composure once more, she pulled out a dwindling loaf of bread and what little they had left of their dinner last night and put together a small lunch... There was only enough for Henri, but that was alright... Christine would figure out something... she hoped. She set Henri down at the table and set the food in front of him, then sat down across from him, cradling Claire to her as she unbuttoned her dress, and began to feed her. She herself had not eaten a full meal all week, but she didn't know what else she could do... her children were more important than herself.

What would they do? She had no where to turn to. But then Erik's face came to her mind and she remembered what he had said to her the day of her late husband's funeral... Maybe she would need him after all.

Erik was dwelling in the library, searching listlessly for a book to occupy himself with, when a knock came upon the door. "I shall answer," he shouted to whomever may try to greet the callers, as he fled the library and walked to the front door. He composed himself before pulling it open. As he had expected, Christine stood before him. "Christine," he said smoothly, pleasantly, "How nice to see you here. I am glad you have found my home."

Christine looked up at him, and nodded, "Hello, Erik," she said, smoothing her ill-fitting dress over her dwindling body.

"Do come in," he said, opening the door wider still. "What brings you here?" Although he had some idea, he was unsure of if she would be staying, or if she just wanted money. He secretly hoped it was the prior.

She stepped inside, out of the bitter January air, and cleared her throat, "I need your help."

"What sort of help do you require?"

"I... I've run out of money... I can't find any work..." she trailed off, a little embarrassed that she had let it come to this, she continued, her voice quieter, "I can't feed my children..."

"Do not bother being modest. What is it precisely that you need? Money, shelter, both?" They stepped further into the foyer, he gazing into her eyes, standing directly in front of her. She tucked a curl behind her ear, unable to meet his eyes.

"The home which we are staying at right now is not suitable for young children and no I do not have any money either..."'

"So, do you desire money for a home of your own? Or, you could simply lodge here with me, in this house," he added nonchalantly.

"You don't need to give me money for a home... but I don't want to impose..."

"It would be fine," his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "The house is large; I've plenty of room... and servants, who cook and clean... You would not have to work," he assured her.

"How can I repay you?"

"No payment would be required," he said quietly. "As I mentioned earlier, I am still your angel of music... The only payment I need is the knowledge that you are safe... and happy." He gave her a small smile.

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt as though she was intruding; shouldn't be putting him in this situation... But she couldn't refuse...

"I suppose I shall show you to your rooms... or room. I am unsure of which you would prefer," he said, heading toward the stairs.

"I should probably go get Henri and Claire out of the carriage first," she said, having partially forgotten that she had brought them along... When she was around him she seemed to lose all sense of everything around him, provoking feelings she still couldn't explain.

"Of course," he said, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "I shall wait," he said, as she exited the house.

Moments later, Christine entered the home once again, holding Henri's hand; cradling Claire with her other arm. "Henri, you remember Erik," she said, smiling down at the little boy, who nodded, becoming somewhat shy.

"Yes."

"Hello, Henri," said Erik. Looking back up at Christine, he asked, somewhat awkwardly, "Is anyone hungry?"

"I am," Henri said, a smile forming on his face. Christine felt horrible that she hadn't been able to feed him well the past couple of days; she herself was quite hungry as well.

He lead the way into the kitchen, nodding for the family to take a seat at the small table in the corner.

"What would you like?" He was actually quite happy to entertain, even if it was a three year old.

"A cheese sandwich! Make one for Mama too... She never eats," Henri said happily as his mother settled him down into a seat at the table then took one next to him, setting Claire down in her lap, and blushed slightly.

"I eat, Henri. Do not make up stories."

"One could not tell by the look of you," Erik replied quietly. He turned to the counter and began to make the meal himself, seeing as the servants had already retired for the night. "Do you want anything else on that sandwich, Christine, or will just cheese do?" he asked, smiling to himself.

"What else do you have?" she asked, not that she cared... She would eat whatever was put in front of her as of now.

"I've ham, turkey, chicken, salami... Much more, I assume, besides."

"Chicken, please..." He nodded, and produced two sandwiches, with generous middles. "To drink?" he asked as he set the plates down in front of each of them.

"Milk, please," Henri said, after taking a big bite of his sandwich.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, darling," Christine scolded, but smiled at him. She was so glad he was able to have enough to eat again.

Erik poured Henri a large glass of milk. "A fine choice. Milk is very nutritious," he said approvingly. Once everyone had settled and begun eating, he turned and wrote a brief note for Chanel, the morning cook. Please prepare 3 breakfasts each morning from now on, one a child's size; we have guests lodging with us- Master Devereaux. He placed the note on the counter and stood at the doorway, waiting for the two to finish their meals.

Once she and Henri had finished their dinners, Christine helped Henri down from the chair. "I think it's about your bedtime, little boy," she said, smiling down at him.

"Not yet! I'm not sleepy!" Christine just continued to smile at him.

"Oh, I think you are... It's been a long day."

"I shall show you to your bedrooms," he said, turning from the room, leaving the dishes on the table. As he walked up the stairs, the deChagnys in tow, he asked, "Will you be requiring one room, two, or three?"

"I want my own room... I'm a big boy," Henri piped in before his mother could answer. Erik laughed quietly.

"Are you in agreement with that, Christine?"

"I suppose you may have your own room if you would like," she said to Henri.

They reached the hall, and Erik nodded to three rooms. "Those two are the bedrooms, and that is the restroom, complete with a bath. Is there anything else you require?"

"No, I believe we're fine... Thank you so much, Erik, really. I cannot thank you enough."

"It is fine... I suppose you'll be needing to collect your belongings from your former home tomorrow... and I shall be needing to purchase a crib," he rambled. "Can Claire sleep in your bed with you, just for this night?" he asked, apologetic at being ill prepared.

"Yes, of course... That will be fine," she said, her eyes meeting with his, that strange feeling coming over her again.

He nodded. "Well, goodnight then... I shall see you all in the morning." He started down the hall to the master bedroom, wishing sorely that Christine would be joining him. "If you should need anything else, please do not hesitate to ask. I shall be awake for some time." With that, he retired to his room, closing the door.

Christine watched him go, then led Henri into his bedroom, which was adjoining to her own. She helped him up on the twin size bed and began to help him undress, setting Claire in the middle of the bed while she did so. "Mama?" Henri asked as she took off his shoes and socks.

"Yes, darling?"

"Why does Erik wear a mask?" Christine thought for a moment.

"He just has a booboo on that part of his face, and he doesn't want anyone to see it."

"Why not?"

"Because people can be very mean, if they aren't taught good manners and to be nice."

"Oh," Henri said, nodding; satisfied with her answer. Christine pulled down the covers and tucked him into bed; she scooped up Claire and bent over to kiss him goodnight. "I like him," Henri said with a yawn; she smiled, turning to go into her room.

"Goodnight, Henri," she said quietly as he shut his eyes; shutting the door behind her.

Christine was looking forward to a goodnight's sleep in a comfortable bed... Tonight she wouldn't have to worry about food or money or if her children had been fed enough... She could just fall asleep— something she had not done in a very long time. She set Claire (who had begun to fall asleep) in the middle of the bed, gently, and began to undress. Her black dress had become quite loose on her, as she had lost an unhealthy amount of weight due to stress, and lack of food; she knew it did not help matters that whatever nutrients she obtained went into her breast milk for feeding Claire— not that she was complaining. She knew that feeding her children and taking care of them was the most important thing in the world to her and that meeting their needs would always come before meeting her own. She knew she must look a fright, and had become skin and bones, but it would be alright now... She didn't have to worry anymore.

Christine neatly folded her dress and set it on the chair across the room, then unlaced her corset and set it on the chair as well. Only in her chemise, she gently picked up Claire and climbed into bed, draping the warm blankets loosely around her. She propped herself against the headboard, holding her baby girl to her chest, and decided to try and nurse her, so she would be less likely to cry during the night and wake Erik and Henri.

Erik settled into his bed with a book, given the early hour of the night, but found that he could not concentrate; his mind was on Christine, and her children. Just how much food had they been living on? Christine looked dreadfully thin, and it worried him. But he told himself not to dwell on it anymore, for she was with him now, and he would not let anything happen to her, or the children. He was becoming quiet fond of little Henri.

Eventually, he abandoned the book, undressed, and turned out the light, knowing that sleep would not come for a long while.

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If you can find it in your hearts to forgive and review, please do so :) 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Hours after sleep had claimed Christine, after midnight, Claire woke and began to bawl. Christine shot up, trying desperately to calm her before she woke the entire household, but the little baby continued to cry loudly. Henri, still half asleep and rubbing his eyes stumbled into the room and climbed up on the bed with her. "Mama? I can't sleep... I keep having bad dreams..." Christine sighed, and reached out and patted his back soothingly, still trying to comfort Claire. _ So much for a goodnight's sleep_, she thought to herself.

Erik awoke to an unfamiliar sound. What the hell is that? he thought, alarmed. It took him a few slow seconds to realize that it was Claire crying. He settled back against the pillows, willing the crying to cease, but it did not. Knowing that he could not fall back asleep, Erik rose from the bed, drew a robe around him, and began walking downstairs, going as quietly as he could past Christine's room, not wanting her to know that he had been awoken.

"Erik's awake," Henri announced from where he was kneeling on the bed, waving to him. "See Mama? Claire wakes everybody up when she cries. Everybody."

"I'm sorry," Erik mumbled for no particular reason. "Good morning, or... hello, everyone," he said awkwardly, noticing that the family had regrouped at some point in the night.

"Claire woke me up too," Henri continued to ramble, "but I was having bad dreams anyway, so it didn't really matter, and then I came in here and she kept crying. Claire is the loudest crier ever,"' he said with a small nod towards his baby sister.

"Oh, well, that's alright," Erik replied, edging away from the door, feeling uncomfortable.

"Where are you going? Do you eat breakfast this early? Or are you a vampire that goes out at this time of night to get his dinner? One time, I heard a story about a vampire..."

Christine interrupted Henri. "There are no such things as vampires, darling." She rocked Claire back and forth, trying to get her cries to cease. She had no idea what was wrong with her, but sometimes babies just cried for no reason at all.

"No... I'm not a vampire," confirmed Erik quietly, "And I don't eat breakfast this early. I was going downstairs to read, in my library. Please excuse me," he said with a polite nod.

"You have a library?" Henri said, crawling off of the bed to follow him, "I like books... Sometimes my mama reads to me..."

"Henri, get back in here!" Christine practically shrieked, embarrassed by his behavior, "Where are your manners?"

"It's fine," Erik said, heading down the stairs, not wanting to look at Christine any longer. He did not expect Henri to follow.

"Wait! Wait for me!" Henri called, hurrying after him. Christine did not even bother to stop him, she was too tired, and preoccupied.

Erik turned to find the small boy toddling after him down the stairs. He shrugged and slowed his pace so he could catch up. Erik led him to the library, where Henri climbed up onto the couch. Erik moved to the shelves and began to select a book for himself, unsure of what to say to Henri.

"My mama and papa used to read to me... But then, when he went to heaven, we had to leave the books behind because they didn't belong to us anymore," Henri babbled.

"I'm sorry to hear that..."

"When my mama was talking to Aunt Meg, she said that my grandmother thought she was a whore so they kicked us out onto the streets like she was a common prostitute," he said cheerfully. Erik blushed in spite of himself.

"I don't think you should be using those words..."

"They thought I was asleep, but I heard them," he added proudly.

"All the more reason not to use them."

"What's so bad about them?"

"Ask your mother."

"My mama... She hasn't eaten in a real long time... Well, except tonight."

"Did you have no food at all?"

"She gave me food but it was yucky... I told her she should eat it 'cause it tasted bad and she said it was 'cause she loved me."

"I see... Well, you will not have to eat 'yucky' foods whilst you reside with me, I hope. If it is, just tell me and I won't make you eat it." He sat at the opposite end of the couch, a book in hand.

"Okay," Henri said cheerfully. "Do you like to read?"

"Yes, very much." He nodded, and scooted over to where Erik was sitting, examining the book.

"Do you like to read?" countered Erik, his awkwardness undetected by the toddler. "Or be read to, rather."

"Yes. Is this book about vampires?"

"No... I'm afraid it is not."

"Oh. What's it about then?"

"The French Revolution... that happened before you were born."

"Are you sure? I'm three... My birthday is on March 5th... I'm pretty big..."

"I'm positive, son."

"What is the French... rev... loo... What's that?"

"A large war which caused much destruction and death."

"Was there blood?"

"Yes, I'm sure there was."

"I'm almost four, you know... Are you sure this happened before me?"

"I am quite sure... It happened when I was younger."

"Are you old now?"

"That depends upon what you would consider old. To you, most likely." Erik found his bold honesty quite refreshing.

"Are you older than my mama?"

"Yes."

"Oh... Did you know she used to sing at the opera?"

"Yes, I know this..." he answered with a small smile.

"She doesn't sing anymore though."

"Oh? Why ever not?"

My papa... it made him sad," he said with a shrug. "It makes her sad too I think."

"Oh... That is unfortunate... I wonder why..." he said as he began to read the first page.

"Can you read to me?"

"I suppose," he said, slightly surprised. "But I very much doubt you will find it very interesting... It is not a children's book."

"I'm smart though."

"Yes, of course you are." With that, he began to read the text which he was sure would put the child to sleep. And sure enough, by the end of the first chapter, it did. He picked up the boy and carried him up the stairs to Christine's room. "Christine," he said. "I was... reading to him and he fell asleep," he said, lingering awkwardly at the doorway.

He heard no response within a few moments, so, figuring she had nodded off, he quietly opened the door and crossed the room, lying Henri down on the bed next to his mother. Erik gazed on Christine's sleeping form, employing much self control to not reach his hand out and caress her cheek. Abruptly, he turned from the room and entered his own, undressed, and fell to the bed, suddenly exhausted.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Christine awoke the next morning to find Henri curled up next to her, and Claire still asleep against her chest. She was stuck; unable to move as to not wake her sleeping children. She wondered what Erik and Henri had been up to last night; she hoped her son had not caused Erik too much trouble... She knew he sometimes forgot his manners. She hoped that Henri had not stayed up too late after he had woken; the last thing she remembered was getting Claire to stop crying... She must have nodded off. For the first time since Raoul had been on his deathbed, Christine had gotten a goodnight's sleep, even though it had been interrupted, she had slept very soundly.

Erik awoke, and suddenly remembered that he had an actual reason to get up. He rose from his bed and pulled on shirtsleeves, trousers, a robe, and his mask before exiting the room and walking down to the kitchen, were Chanel was busy preparing the third breakfast.

"Good morning, master," she said with a curtsey. "You are up early."

"Yes, I suppose I am," he replied, taking a seat at the dining table and waiting for the others to wake.

Deciding that neither of her children would be up anytime soon, Christine gently moved from the bed, a pillow on either side of Claire so she wouldn't roll off the bed in sleep, and made sure Henri was covered up before putting her dress from the day before on (not bothering with her corset) and going down to the dining room, eager for breakfast.

Christine entered the room unaccompanied. "Good morning, dear," he said quietly. "Where are the children?"

She took a seat at the table. "Sound asleep." He nodded.

"I suppose you are hungry... From what Henri tells me, you ate nothing the past few days."

She looked down at the table. "Well, food was quite tight..."

"Yes, I see... Well, do not worry about that any longer, at least," he said, as he took up his fork. He felt a bit awkward; as he was more than used to eating alone.

"Did Henri give you much trouble last night?"

"No, he was quite amusing..."

She smiled. "Yes... He can be quite a character."

"Indeed," he said, laughing lightly. "Please, eat," he prompted.

"I just read to him..." he continued. "About the French Revolution... he fell asleep, and I brought him up."

"Thank you," she said, taking a bite of her breakfast.

"No trouble... I suppose you'd want to gather your things from your old home today... And I must go to the market to purchase a crib for Claire."

"It means so much to me... and Henri and Claire... That you're letting us stay here... Really, I don't know what I would have done..."

"It is no hassle..."

She looked over at him, smiling slightly, "I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough..."

"No... You will... You already have." She held his gaze for a few moments longer before returning to her food

The connection of their gaze sent odd sensations through him. He hated himself for feeling this way... There were so many reasons why he shouldn't. But, he could not help it. This would not go away, he knew. He knew not what to say to her, but at the moment she didn't seem very sociable.

"What else did you and Henri talk about last night?" she said after a few moments of silence.

"Well... He seems to know some rather... colorful language." She raised her eyebrows.

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"Where did he learn it from?"

"Actually, he overheard you and Meg using it."

"Meg and I?" she furrowed her brow, trying to remember. "Oh yes, when Raoul passed on and those as... the deChagnys said some things to me... I thought he was napping..."

"Yes... he seemed rather proud to overhear."

"Christine..." he said after a pause, his tone serious, "That night when I let you go with the vicomte, I was under the impression that he would... protect you and keep you happy... I am sorry it did not turn out that way..." He dare not view this as a second chance for he and Christine... even if it was, he would not take it... He would be nothing but a replacement.

She smiled sadly. "There are some things that are just out of our control..."

"Yes, indeed there are." Awkwardly, he patted her hand in an attempt to comfort her. Without thinking, she put her hand over his. After his initial surprise had subsided, he met her eyes and gave her a small smile.

If circumstances had been different, he would have kissed her hand softly, then her cheek, and finally, her lips. Or possibly tell her that he loved her. But, given the current circumstances, he had to be content with simply gazing into her eyes and smiling shyly, like a foolish school boy with a crush.

Christine soon heard Claire cry from upstairs, somewhat flustered, she removed her hands from his own, and rose from the table. "Excuse me," she muttered before walking out of the dining room to go check on her children, a blush creeping to her cheeks... It had been just a simple gesture, it wasn't as though it was a big deal, but strangely, Christine felt that it was.

He watched her go, somewhat regretfully, before returning to his breakfast, which consisted of eggs benedict and coffee.

A few minutes later, Henri came toddling into the dining room. "Good morning."

"Good morning, son. Your breakfast is right there," he said, nodding to an empty seat. "How are you?" he asked as the boy climbed into the chair.

"Good," he said, picking up his fork and spearing at the food, "Mama's upstairs."

"Yes I know. What is she doing?" he asked politely.

"Feeding Claire. Claire eats a lot."

"Yes, well, she is only a baby, so she must eat to get bigger," he reasoned, as he finished up his breakfast.

"Sometimes, Mama couldn't give her milk 'cause she didn't get to eat 'cause there wasn't food for her," Henri continued to ramble cheerfully, taking big bights of his breakfast.

"Oh... That's too bad," he said, cloaking his concern.

"And sometimes, Mama had to stay up all night with Claire 'cause she wouldn't sleep," he paused for a moment to take a drink of his milk, "Are you and my mama friends?"

"I suppose so."

"Did you know my papa? I miss him... He got real sick before Claire was born."

"Yes, I knew him. I am sorry that you miss him so." Henri nodded solemnly, dragging his food around his plate, "How long are we staying here? Forever?"

"I've no idea... Ask your mother."

"I like it here."

"I am glad," Erik replied, smiling.

"Will you be my friend?"

"Certainly. I think I already am. You are my friend," he said, his smile growing.

Henri smiled at him, "You're a good friend, Erik."

"Thank you, son. Please don't neglect your breakfast."

"Mama cuts up my food for me."

"Indeed?" He nodded.

"Can you, please?" Erik sat idle a moment, thinking this over, before leaning over and cutting the ham into manageable portions for him.

"Thank you," Henri said, taking a bite of his ham.

"You are welcome."

"How do you know my mama?" He asked after taking a few more bite of his breakfast.

"I used to teach her music," he said cautiously.

"Really? You know about music?"

"Yes, very much so."

"How long have you known her?"

"Since she was about eight years old."

"That's a long time."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Did you teach her about singing?"

"Yes, I did."

"Do you know why she doesn't sing anymore, then?"

"No, I don't. Perhaps I shall ask her."

"Okay," Henri said, and began eating his breakfast again.

Soon, Christine entered the dining room once more, Claire cradled in her arms; she sat down at the table beside Henri. "Are you enjoying your breakfast, love?" she asked, smoothing his brown, curly hair, much like her own, which was messed from sleep.

"Yes, Mama," he answered, smiling at her, then waving at Claire.

Christine smiled at this, then looked over at Erik, "Was he causing too much trouble?"

"No... He speaks of everything and nothing," he said, smiling knowingly to himself.

She smiled at him, then leaned over and kissed her son's head softly.

"Erik is my friend," Henri said proudly.

Christine laughed, "Oh?"

"Yes. We are good friends. Right, Erik?"

"That's right, my boy," he said; he couldn't help but smile. "He's full of questions, as well," he added to Christine.

"He is. What did you two talk about?"

"I was telling him about Claire and we talked about you," Henri said, with his usual cheery tone.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?" Henri nodded, returning to his ham and toast.

"Yes," muttered Erik, slightly embarrassed.

"What about me? Only good things, I hope," she said to Henri, smirking slightly.

"Oh yes, Erik was telling me that he used to give you music lessons. He cut my ham."

"Well that was nice of him... Did you say thank you?"

"Yes, Mama," Henri replied, smiling at her then at Erik.

He returned the smile, and said, "I suppose I'd best dress... We have a rather busy day ahead of us... We must go to the market, visit some shops, and make a stop by your old home... I shall be down in a moment." He rose from the table.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Later that afternoon, after the errands had been run and they had gotten their belongings from Christine's old home, the carriage pulled up to Erik's home; Henri was asleep on Christine's lap, while Claire slept in her arms. It had been a long morning for both of her children, and she knew it was past their nap time. The trick would be getting both of them in the house and up to the bedrooms. Erik noticed her struggle, and, being a gentleman, asked, "Could I assist you?" She thought a moment.

"Could you take her?" she asked hesitantly, nodding to Claire, who was fast asleep in her arms.

"Certainly," he said, extending his arms to accept the child. In truth, however, he had never held a baby before, and hoped he would do it properly.

She gently placed her daughter in his arms, "Watch her head," she said quietly, out of habit.

He cradled her tenderly to his chest, supporting her head and neck, and walked to the house, telling the servants to fetch the numerous trunks of goods they had acquired during the trip; dresses for Christine and Claire, small pairs of pants, shirts, and jackets for Henri, and a new crib.

Christine entered the house, holding a sleeping Henri to her chest, his head resting on her shoulder. He walked up the stairs to the hallway and entered Christine's bedroom, standing awkwardly waiting for her arms to come free so she could accept the child. "I will assemble the crib," he said, handing her Claire after she'd settled Henri into bed.

"Thank you," she said quietly, not wanting to wake the baby girl, cradling her to her chest. He nodded and left the room to fetch the crib.

She smiled softly at Erik... He had been too good to them; her especially. She knew she did not deserve his kindness, and knew she would always feel the need to repay him, and would always be in debt to him. He had been wonderful for Henri; she knew her little boy was in love with him already... He had needed a father figure in his life. A father figure? Is that what I want him to be for them? she thought to herself, looking down at Claire to make sure she was sleeping soundly, and absentmindedly smoothed her short, wispy hair.

In a few moments, he returned; he knelt to the ground and quickly assembled the cradle, which was complete with a plush, pink interior. "There you are," he said, once it was complete.

She walked over to the crib, gently setting Claire into the beautiful crib; she leaned over and kissed her forehead softly, then straightened up, simply watching her sleep. It made her so happy to see that both her daughter and son were comfortable and at peace in their sleep. Christine glanced over at Erik and smiled at him once more.

He smiled softly, then said, "I will leave you in peace." He gave a small bow before turning and exiting the room. He made his way to his small music room, and sat at the organ there, but did not play, for fear of waking the little ones. Absentmindedly, she followed him into the music room.

He did not really notice, or mind, when Christine entered the room, as he poured over his many musical scores, trying to think of improvements or additions for them. Once he had finished, she said quietly, "I am quite out of practice when it comes to singing."

"So I have heard from your son... Why is that?"

She shrugged. "I suppose I just wasn't inspired to... My husband said it conjured up too many memories that he would rather forget."

"I see... That is unfortunate... You were quite a talent," he said quietly.

"Thank you..." she murmured, memories that she had been pushing away of the opera house and... Erik... flooding back to her.

"Yes... Do you suppose the children will wake if I play quietly?"

"No," she smiled slightly, "They're quite heavy sleepers."

"In that case, please excuse me," he said, pulling out a duet from Romeo and Juliet.

"May I sing with you?" she asked hesitantly.

"I suppose... The song, though, it's not quite appropriate... If you would not feel comfortable..." he rambled.

"It's alright..."

"If you insist..." With that he played the opening bars, leading into her entrance. He was most interested to see what she sounded like after all these years.

She began to sing, feeling self conscious and a bit nervous about what he would think.

He found that her voice, though a bit rough, sounded basically the same, which was good. She was nervous, he could tell, nervous of the criticism he may inflict upon her, but her energy was wasted, for he could find none. Any faults in her voice could be mended by practice.

When his cue came, his voice joined in with hers, creating beautiful harmony... He was amazed at how perfectly their voices combined, how right it sounded.

She felt herself become entranced by his voice once more; she felt her body relax as she sang... She hadn't realized how much she had missed singing... especially with Erik.

He fell into a music-induced stupor, one of many, aware of only his and Christine's voices; even the accompaniment did not matter so much any longer.

All too soon, the song came to a close; she gazed at him, feeling her heart quickening for reasons she could not comprehend. The final note of the organ lingered in the air longer after they had stopped singing. Finally, he rose from the instrument, standing directly in front of her, and looked deeply into her eyes. "Thank you, Christine," he said quietly.

She nodded, and had a sudden urge to embrace him, but she did not act on it... She simply stood there, her eyes not leaving his. She heard someone sneeze behind her, and turned to find her son standing at the doorway, watching them. Quickly, not wanting to be seen, Henri ducked out of the doorway.

"Henri, please come here," said Erik lightly. Henri peaked back into the room.

"Were you listening in on us?" he asked gently. He nodded silently, not wanting to get into trouble, he didn't budge from the door.

"I am sorry we woke you... Do you wish to go back to bed?"

"I think that would be a good idea," Christine said gently, "You're not in trouble, little man..." she smiled at him. "Come here," she said holding out her arms to him. He walked over to her, and she scooped him up, kissing his cheek. "Are you tired?"

"Yes," he said quietly, resting his head on her shoulder; he wrapped his arms around her neck, and looked over at Erik, smiling at him slightly.

He smiled back. "Rest well, son," he said, as they left the room. He sat at the organ once more, though found no desire to do anything.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi, Chels here. Hope everyone's weekend is going well. _Regret_ has been updated, and an update for our newest story, _Paradise,_ is on the way. Please excuse the mild lack of spacing between paragraphs in certain places in chapters previous to this one; this feature on the software/browser which I use apparently is not supported by the editor. From here on out, a break between a change of setting or point of view will be notated with an 'x'. A break between story content and an author's note will be notated with a series of 'x's. And without further ado, on with the chap.

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Chapter Seven

Later that evening, Christine, Erik and the children were sitting at the dining room table finishing their dinner. Christine had Claire situated on her lap; she was beginning to fall asleep. Henri had grown quiet, due to sleepiness. He pushed his leftover food around his plate absentmindedly. "Are you tired, little boy?" Christine asked gently.

Henri shook his head, stifling his yawn, "No..."

"I think it's your bedtime. Come on, darling, let's get you and your sister off to bed," Christine said, rising from the table.

"Can Erik put me to bed, Mama?"

Christine smiled softly, "If he would like to..."

"I shall..." Erik responded, slightly bewildered. He rose from the table and headed to the hallway, ascending the stairs, Henri following behind.

Christine followed, carrying Claire up to her room. She changed the her into a nightgown and set her into the cradle gently, smiling at the thought of Erik putting Henri to bed... She quite liked the idea.

x

Erik awkwardly went through the boy's bedtime ritual, smiling in spite of himself. He dressed Henri in one of his new night shirts, helped him into the bed, and pulled the covers over him. "Are you warm?" asked Erik, his tone caring.

Henri smiled up at him. "Yes. Thank you." He smiled down at him.

"Goodnight, then. Sleep well, son," he said, straightening up.

"Goodnight," he replied quietly, letting out a yawn, and snuggling under the covers.

Erik smiled at him once more as he turned out the light and shut the door. As he made his way back downstairs, he could have laughed aloud. The mysterious, all powerful Phantom of the Opera, tucking small children into bed. No matter; it had been strangely pleasant. Despite that fact, he suddenly felt the need to prove his manliness, and made his way to the kitchen to pour himself some scotch.

Hearing Erik pass, she decided to join him. Christine exited the bedroom after making sure her daughter was sound asleep, shutting the door quietly behind her. She descended the stairs and made her way into the kitchen.

As he drained his glass, he noticed that Christine too had come to the kitchen. "Hello," he said, mildly surprised to see her. "Will you have anything?"

"Just wine, please," she said quietly, absently smoothing the fabric of her black dress—black—she was so tired of wearing it, even if she was still mourning the death of her husband. She knew it was disrespectful of her but it was the truth, and today being Valentine's day didn't help matters...

He poured her a glass of blush wine and handed it to her. "I suggest that you take that to your room; you will not want to be around me, as I plan on getting quite drunk."

"I'll join you then," she said, taking a deep drink of her wine. She had not gotten drunk for quite a while. She had gotten quite drunk some of the nights when Raoul's sickness had taken a turn for the worse, and while he had been on his deathbed as well, but not since then; not since she had become a widow.

"You won't get there with wine... Besides, I don't think it would be ideal for you to do so," he said as he poured himself a second glass.

"And why not?"

"You've little ones to worry about."

"My little ones are sound asleep, and they will be for the rest of the night," she said, draining her wine glass.

"One could never be sure of such things," he said, before taking a swig from his glass. "Take it slowly. You would not want to give yourself a headache after only one glass."

"It's not as though I haven't drank before."

"Oh?" he asked, intrigued.

"You sound surprised."

"Well, I am. I would not expect such a lady to drink to escape her problems."

"Yes, well... There have been some rough times these past months."

"Yes, I know... Did you love him?" She was surprised by his forwardness, but at the same time she was not... that was Erik.

"I believe I did," she said thoughtfully... She felt for him what she believed to be love, but in the back of her mind she always wondered if there was something more, as much as she hated to admit it. He nodded.

"I can respect that, I suppose... Will you take more?"

"Alright." He took her glass from her and refilled it before handing it back to her.

"On nights like this, I do not normally linger in the kitchen."

"Oh?" she asked, taking another long drink form her glass, letting the wine warm her and allow her to relax... Things were always so much easier to handle when alcohol was in one's system.

"Yes... I normally take to the study, and light a fire, occasionally falling asleep in the chair there, so if you will please excuse me," he said, grabbing his glass and the bottle of scotch, "I think I shall do just that."

"Would you mind if I accompanied you? It's never good to drink alone..."

He smirked slightly. "I suppose so," he responded, hiding his foolish joy at her question. He led the way to the study, kneeling to light a fire in the fireplace, before taking a seat on the couch in front of it with its liquor.

She sat beside him, sipping on her wine, and staring at the fire. He took a gulp of the alcohol. "Celebrating St. Valentine's day is not very enjoyable when one is alone, is it?" he said thoughtfully.

"No, I suppose it isn't..."

"Yes, I should know... They have only been worse the past few years..."

"I'm sorry..."

"I'm sure that you are," he countered bitterly. "I have decided," he announced, "that I do not want you get drunk. I worry about you, Christine. I don't want you to spoil your health."

"It's not as though I'm going to break, Erik..."

"Well... I always viewed you as delicate... But you have bore two children, so I don't suppose you can be too terribly fragile. Do as you wish," he said finally. "I just want to protect you," he added.

She turned her head from the fire to look at him; she was truly touched by how much he cared for her... and her children. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"There is nothing to thank me for... I cannot change; it is not voluntary," he said darkly.

"I see," she said, feeling a bit hurt; turning back to the fire and taking a long swig of her wine.

"What I mean is that I cannot stop loving you— I am sorry, but I can't— and part of loving you is wanting to protect you, and those you love... So it truly is no hassle for me."

She drained her wine glass, then set it on the table; she felt uncharacteristically relaxed and carefree from the liquid. She turned to look at him. "You love me, Erik?"

"Of course I do. I told you this, long ago. I have never stopped." Before she could restrain herself —alcohol did tend to make her quite impulsive— she pulled him into an embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Christine, stop," he murmured, trying (though not very hard) to free himself from her.

"Why?"

"I do not wish to be a temporary replacement in your time of sadness," he said more firmly.

"We don't have to be alone anymore, Erik... Don't push me away..."

"You don't truly want me, Christine; do not tease me. Your actions are induced by alcohol, and loneliness. I would only want you on the purest of terms... I will not sink to this level, not any more."

She pulled back from him to look into his eyes. "But it's St. Valentine's Day... I'm tired of being alone, and I know you are too..." Without warning, Christine leaned up and kissed him on the lips.

He could not resist her any longer, even if he had wanted to. Kissing her back hungrily, tracing her lips with his tongue, he found that this kiss was much different than those they had shared under the opera house that night five years ago.

She moaned softly, opening her mouth and touching her tongue to his. Christine was drunk, she knew that now, but she still had a clear enough head to know that she wanted this, truly, though she could not be sure how long she had. She was so tired of being alone and viewed as a poor, young widow. She wanted to be loved; to feel loved again. Wrapping her arms around his back, she fell back onto the couch, pulling him on top of her.

He kissed her, a kiss filled with incredible passion and desire. He pressed his hips to hers, moaning quietly in the process. Christine rotated her hips against his, moving her hands to his chest.

"Christine," he breathed, pulling away slightly, "We must stop..."

She shook her head, and began to kiss his neck. "You don't mean that," she breathed in between kisses.

"No, you are right... I don't wish to stop... But we should..."

"Why...?"

"This is wrong... It can't be like this... I won't have you like this..." he reasoned, to himself as much as her.

"It's not wrong... We're two adults... We know what we want..."

"Christine... You are simply seeking the warmth of another body beside yours... it would not matter whose... I don't want you that way. If I were to have you, I would want all of you, and I would want you to want me, to need me, to love me..." That will never happen, he thought sadly.

"I do," she said, her voice breathy, "I do... Erik..."

"No," he said disbelievingly, "you don't."

"I mean what I say, Erik... I need you... to make love to me..."

He looked into her eyes a moment, before kissing her lips deeply. It did not matter if she was lying, or whether she loved him or not. Not now. He could resist her no longer. Finally, he said, "I suppose we should get upstairs then," his voice quite throaty.

"Yes... We should..."

He pulled away from her and got to his feet, extending his hand to her to help her off the couch; the site of her, lips swollen and parted slightly, hair messed, only served to further arouse him.

She got up from the couch, feeling as though the room was spinning slightly, and began to lead him out of the library. They made their way to the stairs. Half way up, she turned and kissed him passionately, not able to resist any longer. His hands roamed her back, until one rested on her ass, grasping it slightly.

She moaned softly, pressing her hips into his, resting her hands on his shoulders. Finally, he pulled apart, and took her hand in his as he continued the trek up the stairs. In the middle of the hall, he stopped, and looking into her eyes, he said, "Christine, wait... Do you love me?"

She felt her breath catch in her throat; her eyes widened. Shit... Oh, God, she thought to herself. Did she? She had just been so lonely and had yearned to be loved so much that she hadn't really thought this through at all... She didn't know... She closed her eyes, trying to remain calm and think of what to tell him... She wanted him... She needed him. But did she love him? "Erik..." she began, quietly, but was interrupted by a cry from her bedroom. Claire had woken up.

Damn it, thought Erik. "Go," he said tonelessly, heading on to his bedroom.

"Right..." she said quickly, hurrying into her bedroom and picking up the screaming baby. What just happened?

Erik tore his robe off and climbed into the bed. How could he be so foolish? He figured that the timing of Claire's cry had just saved him from the inevitable pain of her rejection. He should be thankful... yet he was not.

Soon, Claire fell back asleep and she set her back in her crib. Christine undressed and put on her nightgown; she climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her. Tears stung her eyes. She felt so confused... She cared about Erik, more than words could describe. But did she love him? Christine did not know... She wasn't even sure what love felt like... Had she ever been in love? She knew she had hurt him... She had hurt herself. An infinite amount of thoughts filled her heads, and she eventually cried herself to a restless sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Hey everyone, Chels here. Just wanted make a quick note that there is a new story up under this pen name, _Oh, Christine_; it is Leroux based and I am the sole author of it, so if you are a phan of Leroux, please give it a look.

The other two stories should be updated soon as well.

Without further ado, on with the chap.

Chapter Eight

Erik woke from sleep possibly less rested than he had been the night before; his slumber had been invaded by troubling dreams. He lie there about an hour, dreading breakfast with Christine... Finally, not wanting to seem suspicious, he dressed in a suit (despite his usual custom of dining in a robe; that would leave him too vulnerable) and walked downstairs and entered the kitchen, trying to ignore Christine's eyes on him.

"Good morning, Erik!" Henri said cheerfully, oblivious to the tense mood that had fallen over the room.

"Good morning, Henri," replied Erik, his tone completely normal, as he took a seat in front of the only plate of breakfast left. Christine, standing from the table with Claire in her arms, her eyes still bloodshot from crying the night before, mumbled, "I'm going to go feed Claire," and turned, exiting the dining room.

"Mama's head hurts today," Henri said after she had left.

"Yes, I am sure," he said, not looking up from his breakfast.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, of course not."

"You seem grumpy."

"Perhaps I am, but it is not your fault."

"Who's fault is it then?"

"Your mother's," he said honestly, not bothering to avoid the truth.

"Why?"

"She does not know what she wants."

"Claire woke me up and I heard Mama crying... She's grumpy too."

"That's too bad," he said, finishing his oatmeal.

"Are you mad at her?"

"Somewhat."

"Oh... Is she mad at you?"

"I do not know. You would have to ask her."

"She's busy right now though."

"You can ask her later, if you wish to know," he said, taking a deep drink from his coffee mug.

"My birthday is soon."

"Yes, I know... About two weeks."

"I'll be four."

"Indeed. What gift do you desire for?"

He thought for a moment. "I think... a stuffed bear," he said with a nod.

"Alright, that sounds appropriate," he said, with a nod of approval. "Please excuse me," he said, rising from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"To play my organ."

"Oh."

Erik nodded. "I shall see you at lunch," he said, leaving the room. He did not like to leave Henri unattended, but he desperately needed an escape, if only temporary.

x

Henri went upstairs to where Christine was nursing Claire. "Hello, little man," she said to him as he sat next to her on the bed, giving him a smile that did not reach her eyes, "Where's Erik?"

"At his organ." Christine nodded... He must be hurting... It was her fault. "I'm going to go talk to him, alright? Will you watch Claire if I put her in her crib for a little while?"

Henri nodded; she patted his head; after Claire had finished eating, she covered herself back up and set her in her crib. "I'll be right back, alright?" she said, exiting the room and heading down to Erik's music room.

She stood in the doorway, not sure of what to say. She cleared her throat, "Erik..."

At length, he turned to find Christine. "Christine," he said coolly, "I am glad you have come to me. Shall we take this into the library?" he said, stepping past her into the hallway. Once she stepped into the library with him, he shut the door. "Christine... I would like to apologize for my forwardness last night," he said tonelessly.

"You weren't forward... I was," she mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.

"Well, in any case, I am sorry if I hurt you," he persisted.

"I'm sorry, too..." She wanted to tell him how much she cared for him and how much she owed to him... How much he meant to her... But she couldn't find the courage to make the words come out of her mouth.

He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Thank you..." He paused a moment. "I love you..." he whispered, so quietly he did not think she had heard him. Abruptly, he let go of her hand. "Please excuse me," he murmured, turning from her.

"Erik..." she whispered, feeling tears well up in her eyes; she tentatively put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry..."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," he lied.

"Yes I do..."

"Well, either way..." he said, trailing off as he sat down on the couch which faced the empty fireplace. She sat down beside him, burying her face in her hands. She didn't know what she was feeling or what to tell him...

Tentatively, he reached out and rubbed her back, trying to comfort her, although he was unsure of what troubled her. Christine moved closer to him, wanting to be closer to him, taking his hand in her own. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, unsure of why he was doing this... She just seemed like she needed someone to hold her, he supposed.

She leaned into him, feeling comforted by another's embrace. She had been feeling so lonely lately... As if she had lived a lifetime even though she was only 22. Christine often longed for the warmth of someone sleeping next to her in the night, or another's embrace. She had grown tired of the constant looks of pity from others when they registered that she had been widowed... and having to constantly wear black, as if screaming her marital status. She just wanted to feel her age again; she wanted to feel young and alive... She supposed that had been why she had jumped at the chance of being with Erik the past night.

He stroked her hair, and gently asked, "What ails you, dear?"

"I tire of being a widow," she said quietly with a sigh, then smiled slightly. "I feel like an old woman."

"I am sorry..." he said, feeling quite off guard. But he did not mind; the feeling of holding her was very much worth it.

"Is that selfish?"

"No... It is understandable... You are young, after all... You wish to feel young," he reasoned, absently tracing circles on her back. She nodded slightly.

"I'm tired of strangers constantly pitying me as well... and being labeled as a widow at first glance... I suppose that is selfish of me as well..."

"Christine, you are not selfish. I can tell how hard you have worked to keep your children fed and healthy—a selfish person would not do that."

"I wouldn't have been able to do that without you..."

"Before you came to me, you were managing... A lesser woman would have just abandoned them, or focused on herself. That is admirable, Christine. Do not forget it."

"I would not have been able to for much longer..." she said quietly, remembering those days that she had barely been able to feed her children, and had not been able to feed herself at all... Those were dark times... If she hadn't remembered Erik's words she was sure she would have been forced to become a common street whore, selling herself to any man who would pay... If it had come to that, she knew that she would rather abandon all her moral values than let her children go on any longer without food...

"And at that time, you were wise enough to come to me."

"Thank you," she whispered, squeezing his hand gently.

"You're welcome, dear... Do not worry," he said, not referring to anything in particular. She said nothing, just looked up at him, getting lost in his eyes, as she often did.

Tentatively, he reached out and stroked her cheek. She involuntarily leaned into his touch, feeling butterflies in her stomach. He smiled softly, before dropping his hand to his lap once more, his eyes never leaving hers. She suddenly felt slightly flustered under his intense gaze; she looked down at her lap for a moment, tucking a curl that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear.

It felt pleasant just to sit with her, even in silence; perhaps it felt even nicer than their experience the previous night. He was pleased that she had allowed him to hold her. He leaned his head back slightly, relaxing.

Christine got lost in her thoughts once again. The events of last night played over and over again in her head... What would have happened if Claire hadn't woken up? Would she have told Erik she loved him? Would it have been because she wanted him to take her loneliness away or because she truly did? What did she feel for him, anyway? Millions of unanswered questions ran through her head... What she felt with Erik scared her to death, and felt so dangerous, but at the same time it was thrilling and made her feel alive and whole... But what was it? She doubted she would ever be able to pinpoint it.

Amid his thoughts, Erik's hand found Christine's; he held it tenderly in his lap as he thought, I_n different circumstances, I could hold her like this and not have to worry whether she would pull away in disgust or not._ He briefly considered asking her again if she loved him, but it would be useless. She could never love him... He did not know why he ever thought she could.

She laced his fingers with hers, squeezing his hand gently. She thought of asking him where this was going... what they were doing... why they were sitting there as a couple would... why he made her feel the way that she did whenever he was around her... but decided against it, and remained silent.

Absently, he brought both of their hands to his lips and kissed hers, before setting them back down in his lap. _If circumstances were different_, he thought again, I_ would now tell her that I love her._ But that would not fit here, would it?

The feel of his lips against her skin made her stomach fill with butterflies once more, and she had the urge to kiss him. She resisted that urge though, remembering how things had ended up the night before.

Vaguely, he wondered if he bored her. He was enjoying himself, but, after all, they were simply sitting there in silence, so he could not say surely say the same for her. Finally, he asked, "Do you desire anything, Christine?" his voice quiet.

_You..._ she was quite surprised by her own thoughts... She gazed at him for a moment, then shook her head. "No... I'm fine..."

"Alright..." he replied, wishing he had something more to say, even though he quite enjoyed the silence. "Are you happy, living here?" he asked quietly, "Is there anything you wish to change?" He did not know why he was asking her such questions... He just felt the void of silence should be filled by something.

"I am happy... My children are happy... Why the sudden questions? Are you happy with us here?"

"Of course I am," he said quickly. "Nothing could make me happier... Almost nothing, that is," he added, looking away from her, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh?"

"Yes," he replied.

"What else is there?" she coaxed.

He was silent a moment before responding quietly, not looking at her, "To have you as my wife..."

"Erik..." she whispered, not sure of what to say. That had surprised her, and Christine was speechless.

He pulled away from her. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he rose from the couch. She too rose from the couch quickly, turning to exit the room.

"I have to go check on the children," she muttered, hurrying past him.

He walked into the music room once more, and sat at his organ, knowing exactly what he wished to play: _Don Juan Triumphant. That's rather cynical, isn't it?_ he thought to himself before beginning.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

It was March 5th, Henri's fourth birthday, and they had just eaten dinner. Soon, it would be time to serve the cake. The day had been very pleasant so far, and Christine hoped it would stay that way. There hadn't been as much tension between she and Erik as there had been since that morning in February.

Giselle brought out the fresh, warm chocolate cake and set it on the table, curtsying before leaving the room. "Does that look good to you, Henri?" asked Erik.

"Yes!" Henri replied happily. Christine beamed at him; she couldn't believe how big her little boy had gotten... It seemed like just yesterday he was Claire's age, and now look at him... Four years old...

Erik smiled softly as he picked up the dull knife Giselle had served with the cake. "It is a tradition that the birthday boy takes the first cut of the cake," he explained, handing Henri the knife, while looking up at Christine, silently asking permission.

Christine smiled softly at him, and gave a small nod. Henri took the knife from Erik; once he made a sufficiently accurate cut into the cake, Erik took that knife from Henri and cut a piece of it for him, serving it. "Will you have some ice cream as well, son?" he asked.

"Yes, please," Henri replied, smiling at Erik and taking a big bite of his cake.

Taking the container of freshly churned vanilla ice cream, he asked, "How many scoops will you have?"

Henri opened his mouth to say, but Christine interrupted him, "One is enough," she said with a smile, "We want you to be able to sleep tonight, little boy." She ran her fingers through his unruly, short curls and kissed his cheek; Henri giggled.

He nodded and served the ice cream to the birthday boy, before asking, "Will you have any cake, Christine?"

"Yes, please."

He cut her a rather large slice of cake; "Ice cream, as well?" he asked with a small smile.

She returned the smile, "Sure, why not." He dished up a scoop of ice cream for her, assuming she would want the same amount as Henri, before finally cutting a piece of the uniced cake for himself.

Christine, holding Claire steady on her lap with one arm, took a bite of her cake. She felt like they were a real family, though in truth they were far from it, and their living situation was quite an odd one... But it made her happy. She was so relieved that the tension between Erik and herself had broken, if only for that day. She longed for them to be able to be friends again--though had they ever been just friends? She didn't think so. Did she want them to be just friends? Again, she didn't think so. Lately, more than ever, she had found herself wanting to be near Erik, to be with him... She had begun to wonder if she was in love with him. It was entirely unacceptable... She a young widow with children, still in mourning, but she knew she couldn't hide from the truth--at least, not for much longer.

Once the cake had been finished and gifts had been exchanged (Erik had given Henri the teddy bear he'd requested), Erik said, "I suppose that you should be getting to bed now, Henri. It is quite late, in fact."

"I'm not sleepy," he countered. Christine sighed, she would be happy when he grew out of the stage of never wanting to go to bed or take naps. "Darling, it's passed your bedtime," she said to Henri as she adjusted Claire so her head was resting on her shoulder, and rubbed her back soothingly; the baby girl had dozed off some time ago.

"Indeed it is," agreed Erik. "You do want a story, don't you, Henri?" he tempted.

"Yes, but I'm not ready to go to sleep!"

"Well, you won't get a story if you don't get to bed soon," Christine piped in. "Alright..." Henri said, reluctantly, "Will you read to me, Erik?"

"Yes," he said with a nod. "Come," he added, rising from the table and heading to the stairs. Henri followed Erik up the stairs, Christine following behind them.

Erik readied Henri for bed, as he did most every night of late. Pulling the sheets back for the little boy to climb in, Erik sat on the edge of the bed with the book of short children's stories which lived on Henri's night table. "May I begin?" he asked. Henri nodded, yawning softly.

Christine entered her bedroom, setting Claire in her crib, and wrapping a blanket around her lovingly, and caressing her tiny, chubby cheek. She blew out the candles around the room then went and stood in the doorway of her son's room, waiting for Erik to finish reading to him so she could kiss him goodnight. She watched as Erik read to Henri... They had become so close, and Erik had taken on the father role in her son and daughter's life so effortlessly it astounded her. He was so good with her children, it was as though they were is own, and that made her so very happy.

Erik closed the book and turned to Henri as he set the book back on the table. "Goodnight, son. Rest well." He rose from the bed. "I shall see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Erik," Henri said sleepily, yawning once again. Christine smiled, and crossed the room, leaning by her son's bed.

"Goodnight, my boy," she said, leaning down and kissing his cheeks.

"Goodnight, Mama," Henri replied, wrapping his arms around her neck and hugging her.

"Sweet dreams," Christine whispered, breaking the embrace and rising from the floor, blowing out the candle beside his bed before turning to leave the room.

Erik loomed at the door way, watching the mother and son exchange goodnights. Upon Christine's approach, he turned and began to walk down the stairs, heading to the library, as was his nightly ritual.

Gathering her courage, Christine followed him down to the library. She needed to talk to him; she needed to tell him... that she loved him. She was sure of it now... She didn't know how, but she could just feel it. All she could do was hope that he wouldn't reject her, as she had done to him all those times in the past.

Erik had settled down on the leather couch, book in hand, and a fire in the fireplace. He opened the book to where he had left off last night when he became aware of Christine's presence. He raised his eyes from the text and asked, "Christine, what is it you seek?"

She took a deep breath. "I... I need to talk to you."

"Be my guest," he said, gesturing to the free space on the couch.

"Alright..." she said, crossing the room and settling down upon the couch, not sure of where to begin, she sat in silence for a few moments, as he stared at her expectantly.

"I have... sort of... realized something..." she stammered, clearing her throat, and wringing her hands nervously.

"What is it that you somewhat have realized?" he prompted.

"Well... I've always cared for you Erik, especially when you took me and my children in..." she rambled on, stalling.

"Indeed..."

"...But lately my feelings for you have... deepened... and..." she cleared her throat again... God, this is hard, Christine thought to herself.

He said nothing, waiting for her to finish her statement. She turned her head away, looking at the doorway.

"I think I'm in love with you," she mumbled, her words barely comprehendible.

He closed his eyes a moment, not daring to believe what he had heard. After a moment, he gently turned her head so she was looking at him once again. Letting his hand rest lightly on her shoulder he said the only word that could make it to his lips. "Oh?"

She cast her eyes downward. "Yes," she whispered. He took note of this.

"Are you ashamed, dear?"

"No... I'm scared to death." She was scared that he would reject her; scared of what would happen if he did not. She had never felt this way before and that frightened her too, this whole thing was completely new to her.

"Frightened?" he asked, slightly hurt. "What of?" he asked, his hand instinctively finding and holding hers.

"I've never felt this way before..." He pondered on this a moment, wanting to ask what of the boy, but deciding against it.

"What way do you mean?" he prodded.

"I've never... loved anyone in this way... I've never needed anyone this much," she whispered.

He looked away, feeling this way too much to take in at once. Of course, he'd dreamed of this day, but never had it been so intense... He'd never imagined that it would actually happen, and he was quite taken aback by it, though, of course, overjoyed at the same time. Still, he had his doubts... Perhaps she had just gone without love for too long, and he was the simplest subject to overcome. He did not know how do voice his concerns politely, so he decided to abandon that approach altogether.

"Christine... How can you know this? You were recently widowed... in need of love... You know I love you, and would not refuse you if you told me such things..."

"You think... You think I'm manipulating you?" she asked, feeling hurt... She had thought it over for so long; it had taken so much courage to tell him, and now he just assumed that she was using him.

"I am sorry... I suppose I simply have difficulty trusting happiness," he said quietly.

"This isn't exactly as romantic as I thought it would be..." she said, a small smile on her face. He laughed softly.

"Things rarely go as planned..."

"That's true..." He squeezed her hand gently.

"My apologies for ruining your vision."

She sighed. "Do you trust me? Do you believe that I mean what I say?"

"Yes," he replied at length, "I believe that I do..." Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in, her face close to his; wanting to kiss him, but at the same time she wasn't sure if he wanted her to.

Tentatively, he met her lips in a chaste, unsure kiss, fearing that she would pull away and take back all that she had said. Christine smiled through the kiss, opening her mouth slightly to deepen it; she moved her hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling him slightly closer to her.

Slowly, as if afraid it was all a dream, he slid his tongue into her open mouth and entwined it with hers, his hands moving to her hips.

She moaned softly into his mouth, letting her hands move down to his lower back, then back up to his shoulders. He pulled apart from her. "Christine, I love you," he whispered.

A tear slipped down her cheek. "I love you too..." He kissed it away before claiming her lips again, more deeply this time. He had never been truly happy until now... He loved her so much, and could not believe she felt the same way.

Christine closed her eyes as he kissed her; it was pure bliss. She lightly traced his mouth with her lips, reaching her hand up to run her fingers through his hair, as the other stroked his chest lightly.

The new found sense of freedom between them was astounding and refreshing; it did not matter if they wished to be forward; they were not required to restrain themselves, and Erik adored it. He finally broke the kiss, and planted several more on her cheeks, nose, and forehead before leaning back against the couch, needing to pause for a moment. Christine climbed onto his lap, and placed soft, almost teasing, kisses on the curve of his neck and the base of his throat.

"Christine," he breathed, as pleasure and desire began to fill him; his hands found her hips. He was mildly surprised by her boldness.

"Yes?" she asked, continuing to kiss his neck, her hands on his chest.

"Must you tease me so?"

She looked up at him, with a smile and nodded, "Of course," she murmured, straightening up so her face was only inches from his.

He kissed her lips once more, not bothering to cloak his intense passion. He noticed, embarrassingly, that his arousal was straining against his trousers in the most uncomfortable way. He pulled apart once more. "Christine, let us go upstairs."

Christine nodded, slightly winded from the intense kiss. "Alright," she said, her voice breathy; she got off of his lap.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

He ascended the stairs, his pace quicker than usual, though still quiet, so as not to wake the children. He opened the door and led her into the master bedroom.

Once he had shut the door behind them, she gripped the back of his neck with her small hands and brought his head down to her level so she could kiss him, letting her tongue explore his mouth.

He was both shocked and pleased by her extreme passion and forwardness; he moaned into her mouth as her tongue delved into it, his hands brushing the sides of her breasts experimentally. She moaned softly, involuntarily arching her body into his; her desire grew even more. She deepened the kiss, nipping at his bottom lip.

Noting her response, he moved his hand up once more and cupped her breast fully in his palm, the sensation causing his arousal to grow stronger still. "Christine, please..." he moaned.

Her mouth grew dry and she felt a wetness between her thighs that she had not felt in quite some time. She closed her eyes, trying to find her resolve, then began to undo the buttons of Erik's crisp, white shirt. Once she had gotten it unbuttoned, she slid it off of his arms and let it fall to the floor; placed lingering kisses on his chest.

Christine pulled back and admired his torso. His skin was a slight bronze that was a stark contrast to her own very fair, pale skin. She ran her small hands up his chest, feeling his muscles under her touch; noticing that he was delightfully fit.

He shivered slightly as the feel of her small hands upon him. Leaning in slightly, he kissed her neck while his hands snaked around her back to unbutton her dress.

She pressed herself to him, wrapping her arms around his lower back, she shuddered as his lips brushed her neck. He freed her of the dress, tossing it to the ground with his shirt, leaving her in a corset and chemise. He looked her over a moment, running his hand down her corset covered side, before asking quietly, "Why must you wear this? You are perfect as you are..."

She gazed at him, her lips slightly parted. "No one is perfect, and I am far from it," she whispered, her voice raspy.

"You are flawless to me, at least," he said, cupping her cheek.

She smiled up at him, placing her hand over his, and leaning into his touch. "I love you," she whispered to him, gazing into his eyes.

"I love you," he replied, adoring how easily the words could leave his lips. Unable to take more, he kissed her lips before turning her and undoing her corset, kissing her neck desirously.

Goosebumps rose on her skin, as he undid the last few laces of her corset. She was a little self conscious of her body, for she had had Claire only a few months ago.

He tossed the corset to the ground along with the other discarded clothing; she was left in a soft pink chemise, which was quite thin as well. Christine turned back around to face him; she flushed slightly, knowing how thin her chemise was. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his face down to her level once again, her lips meeting his. While she kissed him, she reached down and began to undo his pants.

Immediately he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. He did his best to ignore it as she pushed the trousers to the ground. She grasped the bottom of her chemise, and slowly pulled it up over her head, then let it fall to the floor, before gently reaching up to remove his mask. Christine looked over at him through hooded eyes, her swollen lips slightly parted.

Instinctively, he turned from her slightly, though he did not avert his gaze. She was the most beautiful thing he'd even seen... Her complexion was delicately pale, the peaks of her small but full breasts rosy and erect.

Christine laid down on the bed, propping herself up with her elbow. "Erik?"

He turned and joined her on the bed, feeling suddenly quite awkward; he knew that she could tell this, which made him feel inexperienced and foolish.

She put a hand on his shoulder, bringing him closer to her, then kissed him, gently at first, trying to make him feel more comfortable.

He allowed his hands to stray to her breasts, teasing the peaks further as he kissed her lips deeply. Christine shut her eyes, arching into his touch. She dipped her hands from his chest, down to his stomach, ghosting her fingertips along his skin. He shivered, somewhat unsure of what to expect, yet in some way knowing already.

Tentatively, Christine reached down and held his manhood in her hand, gently stroking it. His eyes widened with lustful surprise as she handled him. "Harder," he heard himself breath. She applied more pressure, feeling the wetness between her thighs grow, and her breathing grow shallow. Knowing that he could not last much longer, he roughly pushed her to her back and covered her small frame with his own. In one thrust, he had claimed her; she was truly his. He leaned down and kissed her lips as he began to rock his hips.

She rose her hips to meet his, feeling his length stretch her walls; he was larger than she was accustomed to. Christine gripped onto his back, a low moan escaping from deep in her throat.

He forced himself into her deeper still as their pace quickened. He gripped her hips, helping her to meet each of his thrusts, kissing her whenever the chance was offered. Christine moved her hands down his back, grasping his ass slightly, then drew them back up to his shoulders, gripping them tightly as she moved with him. "Erik," she moaned as he thrust deeper and deeper within her.

He could sense his release was near. He felt the frantic desire to touch her, to kiss her, to get closer to her still. He ground her hips into hers forcefully, loosing control quickly.

She felt that tingling sensation begin to overtake her body, starting at her stomach then slowly working its way to the rest of her body. "Yes," she cried out, as the act intensified; she felt her walls flex around his member.

Finally, he came. "Christine," he shouted, a pleasure that he never imagined he'd ever know filling his body. As her own orgasm came, she felt her body shudder and tremble under him; she threw her head back and gave a loud moan, gripping onto his shoulders tightly as she came.

He lowered his head to her chest, completely spent, her breasts acting as a pillow. He kissed them softly, eyes closed, and whispered, "Christine, I love you..."

"And I you," Christine whispered back, panting slightly. Never before had the act been so perfect to her... It was so enjoyable, and so beautiful. _So, this is love_, she thought to herself, easing her grip on Erik's shoulders and running her fingers through his hair.

He lie there a few moments, accepting her gentle, loving caresses, and catching his breath, before pulling slowly out of her and rolling off of her, lying at her side.

Christine's hand found his, and she entwined his fingers with her own. He planted several kisses on her hand. "I never imagined anything could be so beautiful," he said quietly.

"Nor did I," she whispered, still winded; her chest rising and falling somewhat rapidly. He scooted closer to her somewhat, not wanting to be apart from her. She turned on her side to face him, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you," he replied, tears of joy gathering in his eyes; nonetheless, he did his best to make them subside, not wanting to embarrass himself. She scooted close to him, resting her head on his chest.

He wrapped arm around her, cradling her to him lovingly. "Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight, Erik." she whispered, kissing his chest lightly.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Christine woke in Erik's arms early the next morning, just as the sun was making its way up into the sky. She felt slightly embarrassed when she realized that she was completely naked, not even covered by a blanket. She tried to stay as still as possible, not wanting to wake Erik, whose arm was wrapped tightly around her small waist. Christine noticed that she had a few bruises sprinkled on her neck and collarbone, she would have to think of a story to explain that to Henri, and she was quite sore. This surprised her, it was not as though it was her first time... But it had been a long time...

A few moments after she, Erik woke, not opening his eyes just yet. At first he was highly confused at why there appeared to be someone sharing his bed, but then the previous night came rushing back to him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked down to find Christine. "Good morning," he said quietly.

"Good morning."

"Did you rest well?" Somehow, he was afraid that she regretted what had happened between them last night.

She nodded, smiling softly up at him. "Yes. Did you?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, I was quite exhausted," he said with a slight smirk. He fell silent, before asking, "Christine, do you regret what we have done?"

"No, of course not…" she said, her hand finding his and taking it her own, bringing it to her lips.

"I would not wish to take unfair advantage of you, given the current state of affairs…" he said quietly. He secretly wished that they had been wed, so she would have been completely his, but it was too late to go back now.

"Do you regret it, Erik?"

"No… How could I?"

Christine shrugged, "I… I don't know," she said quietly, "Things just moved quite fast last night."

"Yes… I suppose that they did… You did not seem to object, however."

"No, I didn't…I'm not sorry it happened…"

"I am glad…" he said, allowing himself a small smile as he kissed her forehead softly.

She closed her eyes, and whispered, "I love you."

"I love you," he replied, kissing her cheek. She cupped his cheek in her hand, and leaned up, kissing his lips tenderly. When the kiss broke, he tightened his embrace around her slightly, reveling in the feeling of her soft, bare flesh, against his own. He kissed her messed hair, smiling for a reason he could not pinpoint.

Christine sighed contentedly, resting her head on his bare chest once more and closing her eyes. "Claire will be waking soon," she murmured quietly, then added more to herself than to Erik, "I'll be needing to feed her."

"Of course..." he replied softly, sincerely not wanting her to part from him.

Christine laid in his arms for a while longer then gently unwrapped his arms from around her waist and rose from the bed, crossing the room to retrieve her chemise. He watched her silently a moment.

"Christine?"

She turned to face him, pulling her pink, silk chemise over her head. "Yes?"

"Do you feel elderly any longer?" he asked with a small smile. She laughed and shook her head.

"No, thanks to you."

He laughed quietly as he settled back against the pillows once more, completely content. She crossed the room, laying down beside him on the bed. She propped herself up on her elbow, and leaned down to kiss him. He wrapped his arm loosely around her waist.

"I love you, Christine," he said, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.

She smiled down at him. "I love you too," she replied, kissing him once again, more deeply. She broke the kiss, slightly winded. "Perhaps I shall put on something other than black today..."

"Why do you suggest that?"

"Maybe it's time for me to come out of morning."

"It has not been the appropriate interval of time, dearest," he said delicately.

"Does that really matter?"

"I expect it would to you, and the rest of society... It has not even been a year," he replied gently.

"I'm already an abomination to the rest of society," she said with a hallow laugh. _Thanks to the de Chagnys._ She pulled away from him, sitting up and leaning her back against the headboard.

"In truth, it does not matter... To hell with society..." She smiled slightly, hugging her knees to her chest.

"I suppose you should wear what you wish, if you truly do not feel the need to mourn any longer... It is up to you, ange... Only you can decide when you are ready to move on..."

"I am ready to move on," she said quietly, "with you... I want to be with you, Erik."

He joined her in sitting up, and took her hand in his. "Thank you, Christine," he nearly whispered. He could barely believe this was real... The only thing that kept him from believing this all to be a dream was the feel of her soft, small hand in his, and the look of love in her chocolate brown eyes. In spite of himself, tears began to gather in his own cool green ones.

Suddenly he noticed that he was still exposed; embarrassed, he drew the sheet over himself before turning his gaze back to Christine. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace, feeling tears begin to sting her own eyes.

He kissed her head gently and rubbed her back through the soft material of her chemise. "My love," he whispered, for no apparent reason... He just wanted her to know...

She turned her head and kissed his cheek lightly, then rested her chin on his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you." He adored the feeling which occupied him when he held her... when he told her that he loved her. There was nothing sweeter in this world, he knew, than to love and be loved in return. "You must feed Claire soon, darling." He said this with the ambiguous tone of both a question and a statement.

She nodded, not braking the embrace just yet... She wished they could stay like this the rest of the day, but knew that she had her children to take tend to, who would be waking soon if they were not already up. "Yes, I suppose so."


End file.
